


Almost... (a fairytale)

by Caivallon



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff and Smut, M/M, One Night Stands, fairground stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 22:08:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2668154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caivallon/pseuds/Caivallon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And then he captures Fernando’s face, holds him into place and kisses him. Deep and slow. Licks into his mouth, over his teeth and strokes over his tongue. Every movement giving away his want. The want to taste him, to memorize him. The hand around his head, the searching and caressing thumb on his cheekbones, the lips meeting his own. The want to hold him, to have him and to take something from him.<br/>“You taste of candy apples.”<br/>They part from each other, both surprised how hard it is.<br/>“I like their taste inside your mouth.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost... (a fairytale)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AwakeMySoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwakeMySoul/gifts).



> This my birthday present for my beloved [ **Tetila** ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AwakeMySoul) who’s the most passionate fighter for this pairing and who’s the one who introduced me to this pairing and who’s my best friend. I’m glad you’re in my life, sweetheart ♥ 
> 
> Even though I’ve written tons about this pairing in german, this is my first attempt in english. I hope someone likes it. (comments and critics would be lovely ♥)
> 
>  
> 
> Beta, as always, [**Bee**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tatou/pseuds/tatou). Thank you.
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://de.tinypic.com?ref=21m7msk)

~~**Almost...** ~~

 

His heart is nothing but a beating madness - fast and frantic, filling his ears with a steady drum that dims the surrounding noises. 

His stomach is nothing but a quivering storm of shy sickness. Empty but nonetheless full with fluttering nervousness.

His fingers and knees are shaking and trembling proofs of this butterfly weakness, stumbling and trying to catch up with the man in front of him. 

This is a bad idea. 

He knows it. 

Knows it with the same certainty as he knows about his haircolour, his father’s birthday or his mother’s maiden surname. It’s foolish and cheap and dirty and everything he’s sworn he’d never do. He should turn around and walk back towards the flickering neon lights, the pounding sounds of various fun rides and thousands of people laughing. 

But then there are fingertips brushing over his own, reaching out for him, pulling him closer. Hands searching for the small of his back, pressing him tightly against bodily warmth. Lips clashing swiftly against his mouth, licking, tasting, smiling. 

Five seconds. 

Three heartbeats. 

One moment. 

Then it is _over_. 

But now Fernando’s mouth tastes salty-sweet and fresh, of tomato sauce and chewing gum. Remembers thin lips, dry and stressed, but cheeky and daring. Wishes for a clever tongue, hot and plundering and caressing. And all doubts and hesitations vanish into thin air. 

~~Almost~~. 

“Wait…” 

It’s completely dark by now but the sky is pulsating and flickering from the fake northern lights, painting the man’s face in shadow and colours. Revealing amusement and annoyance, a slight frown between the sharp eyebrows. 

“What?” 

“Where are we going?” 

A laugh. No - not a laugh. 

_The_ laugh. Boyish, challenging, utterly mesmerizing. 

“Somewhere more quiet where not every second someone could walk in on us… but of course we could just stay here, if you’re too impatient or if you’re into that kind of thing.” And then he’s back within Fernando’s space, shoving him backwards against the structured, ugly yellowish surface of the next caravan. Fingers automatically finding their way underneath his light jacket and shirt, roaming upwards, following spine and bones, bringing cold air to raise goosebumps, then warm caresses to extinguish it with flames rushing through his body. A knee pushes between his thighs, a groin rubs lightly against his, slowly greeting his. 

The interest so open and blatant for Fernando to feel that he can’t help bucking forward. 

“I’d prefer some quieter place… but if _you_ are too impatient or into _that_ …” He laughs and brushes with his fingers over the other man’s fly (a small part of him is surprised over his own bold move). 

“I knew you were a fucking tease.” 

A whisper like spiderwebs before he’s yanked away from the sparsely solid wall, hands again grabbing his - and this time without letting go - and then he’s dragged along behind the tall back, the wide shoulders. 

Narrow alleyways, sharp corners, small spaces to crouch underneath clotheslines and squeeze past motorcycles or bikes. The odor is almost as thick and sickening as the one of the fair itself. The smell of cooking, machine oil and occasional garbage put outside of some caravans, the sharp stench of pee and sometimes the heavy sweetness of marijuana. 

Fernando quickly loses track of their way, can’t memorize how many times they turn left or right, like he promised himself he would. It’s a labyrinth of chaos without any recognizable pattern or point of orientation since all those caravans appear so similar in the darkness. At first he tries to search for some landmark lights from the fair, but the lanes are too small, the campers too high to see more than flashes of colour. One time he discovers the helpful needle of the Freefall Tower, but it’s just for a few seconds and then it’s gone and he’s again confused and lost. 

(And even though he knows he would find his way out, it adds to the certain thrill of adventure and danger - speeds his pulse, quickens his heartbeat.) 

They pass some other people sitting in front of their caravans, smoking or drinking beer, talking quietly to each other. A young mother, the darkish skin of a romanian, scowling at her daughter to help her with something in their makeshift kitchen tent, while her eyes follow them. A couple hiding in the cramped gap between two wagons, kissing, making out or more. 

The sight touches something inside Fernando. Intimate and visceral. And the prospect of soon having sex makes his cheeks grow hot, his groin tighten. 

Without thinking he brushes over the other man’s back, over the shoulders and the warm neck. The inviting, curling black lines of ink make his fingers twitch with want to follow them underneath the fabric.  
There's a slight stumble in the other man's steps, a shift in his muscles that tells Fernando he's not as cool about this as he always lets on. But then he stretches, a movement like a dog or a cat, to get closer to the touch before he slows down his steps and ducks into a small side alley, barely wide enough for them.

It's quite dirty and the smell is anything but pleasant and for short moments Fernando suddenly feels also dirty and cheap again, almost ashamed for being here. With a man he has ~~almost~~ never met before, whose name he doesn't know and who most certainly would never even remember the next day.

(It's not like he needs this... Or that he couldn't get sex the normal way and in definitely less disgusting surroundings.)

Then the man turns and it takes just one look at this face, this smile... and Fernando remembers again. 

Then the man pulls him close again, body hard and well trained... and the thrill is back. 

Then the man licks over the side of his neck, sucks at the skin there... and the desire returns, more forceful than ever. 

“Well, I thought about something more… secluded and horizontal. But this will also make do.” 

Smug and satisfied he smirks when he detects the short frown between the dark eyebrows. The even shorter unwilling twitch of the sharp lips. A sneer that quickly turns into an amused grin.

“I’m very sure this will make do… at least nobody ever complained before, princess.” 

A soft, tickling touch at his lower stomach wanders sidewards underneath his open jacket, warm and skillful. The perfect mixture of teasing and arousing that makes his groin contract and tighten. The man’s breath hushes over his lips promisingly (helping him to forget about that last taunt). 

“Maybe you're too confident… maybe I’m harder to please? And maybe I want you to make up for these quite uncomfortable circumstances.” 

“Damn, princess… I think I really like you all demanding and straightforward.” 

The kiss - more a gentle bruise, with nibbling teeth and a tongue licking the soft spot under his right ear, nose buried in his hair - shouldn’t feel like a reward. ~~But it does~~. 

And Fernando can’t even care anymore. 

Stench, soil and garbage around them suddenly completely forgotten he allows himself to be pulled against the other man, allows himself for the first time to press closer and act upon his want. To admit that this is exactly what he _wants_. 

Has wanted from the first time he saw the other man six days before. 

___

“Hey, is there anyone who could patch me up?” 

Fernando didn’t even hear someone coming closer until a shadow fell over him, blocking the warm September sun. With a small frown, he put his book down to find tattooed arms (one covered with a makeshift tourniquet of a shirt and an also tattooed left hand), a tall well trained body and a quite handsome freckled face. 

“Sorry, I’m on break now. Please go over to my colleague, she’ll look after you,” He gestured to the tent on his right.

“Yeah, right… There are about a dozen people queuing. And in the meantime I’ll bleed here to death. Hope that doesn’t disturb your reading.”

“Since you’re still able to complain and taunt it can’t be too bad.” With a small shrug he propped himself up onto his elbows and watched daringly while the other man peeled away the black fabric around his arm to reveal a deep and nasty looking gash on his lower arm, angry red and black as if has been burned, the flesh torn apart, ripped open. 

“Fuck! What…? This needs sewing!”

Fernando was suddenly very awake and very anxious. He almost ripped that shirt out of the man’s fingers, sneering at the dirty and sweaty stains upon it, the strong smell and flinched because of possible dangers like infections and gangrene. 

“Yeah, I know that. Told you I need someone to help me.” 

“You need to sit down and stop talking. Come with me.” 

But when he tried to help him, to support him on their way into the tent and towards a vacant section of their first-aid-station, the other one just ignored him and laughed.

“I walked all the way here from the other end of the fair… surely I’ll manage ten more steps, as much as I appreciate your concern.”

Taking place on the small foldable operation table his eyes wandered over Fernando in a way that totally confused and irritated him. 

“You’re going to do the sewing?!”

The disbelief was so very obvious that it took him some effort to swallow down the comment lying on his tongue, but he managed it and just turned around to get the stuff he needed.

“Yes, I am the one doing it. But if you prefer bleeding to death... “ Placing the medical instruments on the side table he folded the hands in front of his chest and hold the amused and curious gaze. 

“It’s just that you look like you would faint at the sight of some blood, princess.”

There was something in those eyes, something he couldn’t quite figure out - a mixture between open praise and doubt.

Something like a challenge. 

And Fernando ~~hated~~ loved a challenge. 

“If I were you, I wouldn’t anger the person who’s about to patch me up with a needle the next minutes.” It was too hard to hide the smirk and the obvious pleasure about having the upper hand, so he didn’t. And maybe - if the guy hadn’t been so cocky and smug - he would’ve warned him ahead before he peeled off the dirty fabric of the shirt to unveil the huge and brutal wound again. 

There was a small and painful hiss - an indication this action indeed had hurt (a reaction that shouldn’t please him so much) and he gave the other man a sign before he used the the cool disinfection spray. 

“Sorry… but I have to clean away the blood and make sure there’s no dirt in it. I’m going to anesthetize it locally since the actual sewing will hurt.” 

The other man just nodded and watched him while Fernando prepared the needle holder with one of the thinnest threads. 

“That’s not a clean cut, obviously not from a knife… May I know how this happened?” 

“A cable, electrified. We were in the process of building up our ride, well, we were almost done and doing the last tests. Someone didn’t notice that the cable was caught between two moving bars and when I wanted to remove it or loosen it, it just tore apart from the tension and snatched against my arm.” He shrugged, shaking his head when Fernando tested the wounded area with the tip of his needle to check if the anesthetic already worked.

“Go on, I’m not a princess.” The raised eyebrow, the smile again. Daring, teasing, thrilling. 

But he just glared at him, took the needle holder and started sewing (one part of him feeling bad for hoping it would still hurt the other man, while the other part thought he’d totally deserve the pain). 

“What about the tattoos? Although I’m good it’s quite impossible to make the stitches that accurate and there probably will be scar any way.”

“Scars are cool, so don’t worry, I’ll live.”

With a snort Fernando bowed down again and continued his needlework. 

He was good at this, careful and fast, his stitches always tiny and precise; the best intern at the hospital. Some of the other surgeons had even told him he was better than most of them. He could’ve done it almost blindly after inspecting the wound, but this time he was more nervous than usually. 

Because suddenly it was hard to concentrate with those green-brown eyes observing him and every move of his fingers. Lingering heavy on him, making his heartbeat quicken and his cheeks grow hot. First he had suspected the reason for the staring was doubt, that the other man didn’t trust him despite his words. But then he glanced upwards for the blink of a second and detected something like a smile. Nothing more than a flicker in the corner of those sharp lips, small and quickly hidden when he noticed Fernando’s gaze. A shadow in those confident and self-satisfied eyes; wonderment or astonishment, respect. But still mixed up with a playfulness that managed to irritate and confuse him. 

“There are freckles on the back of your ears.”

(A painful shock of excitement.) 

“I know.”

Fernando cut the black thread, glad his hand gave nothing away from is inward turmoil. 

“They’re hot.” 

“They’re just freckles.”

(The tingling of his fingertips where they touched the warm skin. The rush of blood to his head. The heartbeat in his chest. Fast and hard.) 

So he was ~~almost~~ glad when he finally was finished. After an endless 27 stitches, endless 108 knots (two to hold the stitch, another one for safety reasons, and the fourth one to be absolutely sure), endless 108 intakes of breath in which he learned the man’s skin: sweaty, salty, a fragment of fresh oceanic antiperspirant mixed up with an earthy scent he couldn’t quite figure out. All heavily covered with the metallic hue of blood and the stench of burned flesh (but nonetheless _there_. And once he had found it he just couldn’t ignore it anymore). 

Sitting up he took deep breaths of clean air ~~wishing he was really~~ glad to be done with this. 

A soft laugh ripped him from his thoughts. 

“Relax, princess, you’re way too tense. That can’t be healthy.” 

“I just patched you up with 27 stitches. Be glad that I am _that_ tense, otherwise those stitches wouldn’t look that neat and clean.” His voice sounded cold and brisk - sharp as the scissors in his hands that he used to cut the threads now (and he was proud of himself).

Yet the other man just laughed.

“Yeah, that’s a nice suture, you’re always welcome to patch me up. But if you want some _fun_ … you know where you can find me the next two weeks.” 

___

His fingers sneak underneath that tight black shirt, finding warmth even though it’s a chill autumn night. Finding strong and hard muscles, the arousing dents of an unyielding spine. He grabs deeper, greedy for contact - the solid realness. 

Their bodies touch and he has to hide the sigh of relief with burying his face in the crook of the other’s hairline. Overwriting the reaction with brushing his nose along it, trailing and tracing it. The scent is musky, fresh, but underneath he finds the same earthy fragments he still remembers from their previous encounter, from the few seconds before at the fun ride. A scent he still can’t decipher, but also a scent that’s nevertheless addicting. 

Almost as addicting as the low moan when he starts licking small kisses towards the earlobe, nibbling and biting. 

Hands start to wander from the middle of his back downward to his bottom, stroking the patch of skin there through the fabric of his shirt, playing with the waistband of his jeans before sliding into his trousers. Caressing him through the thin layer of his boxers. More slowly and savouring than expected. More slowly and savouring than he _wanted_. ~~Irritated~~ confused about the soft and tentative movements, angered because it’s not enough he loosens his grip to lean back and searches for eyes in the darkness. 

All he can see against the night sky - faintly illuminated with flickering reddish lights from the fair - are questioningly raised brows before he yanks the other man against him, rubbing their groins together, eliciting another satisfied and eager sound from him. The tips of his fingers tingle from the contrast between the crisp air and the hotness underneath the cotton of that shirt, from the feeling of the taut stomach, of the evident and promising erection against his. 

Fernando laughs quietly - feeling suddenly so good, so utterly free with those huge hands holding him, exploring him. One still inside his jeans cupping his ass, the other taking a tickling path upwards over his sensitive sides. Desirous but thorough, not missing one spot, one curve of his ribs, thumb brushing ghostly over his nipple, then over his collarbone, his jaw. Pressing him back to kiss his throat and Fernando can’t hold back the expectant sigh, the jolt that runs through his body to have the other man closer. 

“Enjoying yourself, princess?”

Instinctively he wants to nod, turned on from the suddenly more precious undertone (something like amused affection) but also partly irritated because this name is downright ridiculous and scathing. 

“Why are you calling me that?” (Tousles his fingers through the dark brown hair.)

“I have a name.” (Leans closer to lickbreathewhisper into the tempting shell of the man’s ear.)

“And if you want to fuck me, you have to use it.” (Opens his legs wider so the other can step between them more comfortably.)

“You need first names to fuck!?” 

His invitation is quickly taken and again he can’t help but notice how perfectly their bodies fit when he curls his leg around the strong thighs, when a hand wanders lower between his cheeks, sending hot waves through his veins. 

“No, I need first names to _come_ ,” he smirks, tongue leaving a moist trail while he wanders over cheek and chin, neglecting the impertinent mouth on his way to the other ear. “So if you want to make me come I suggest you use my real name.” 

“I bet I can make you cum without your first name, _princess_.” 

And then he captures Fernando’s face, holds him into place and kisses him. Deep and slow. Licks into his mouth, over his teeth and strokes over his tongue. Every movement giving away his want. The want to taste him, to memorize him. The hand around his head, the searching and caressing thumb on his cheekbones, the lips meeting his own. The want to hold him, to have him and to take something from him. 

His breath, his hesitations. His last restraint. 

It’s a kiss that should never stop. 

And Fernando ~~almost~~ believes him. (Even though he wishes he wouldn’t.) 

So he doesn’t say anything. Admits his defeat. Leans back and allows the other man to kiss, to plunder, to take his mouth like he wants to. Savours the intense feeling of being _wanted_ so feverishly. 

“You taste of candy apples.” 

They part from each other, both surprised how hard it is. How much they long for real light to see. How much they love the darkness for covering their reactions. 

“I like them.” 

“I like their taste inside your mouth.” 

The following laugh vibrates against his chest, makes his heart pound faster. And when the left hand starts to wander from his bottom towards the cleft between his cheeks, rubbing askingly over his entrance - still separated through the thin cotton of his boxers, he twitches - lust clouding his mind, stopping his reason, killing it, vaporizing it - and pushes back, cursing that final barrier. 

Yet it reminds him of his own hands, of his desire to explore, to discover that wonderful body. ~~To memorize it~~. To torture it with his teasingarousing touch. 

When he opens the fly of the black jeans and slides inside, the reaction he receives is downright satisfying. A sharp intake of breath, a sudden jerk forward against his hands and fingertips. A deep growl and a remarkable increase of temperature. 

He smiles, stroking the small path of sparse hair downward from the stomach towards the almost hard cock. His administrations are slow and tender and he loves how the muscles tense and the bigger man starts bucking against him. 

He can feel how hard he gets with every passing second, every curious touch. How hard they both are right now. And he wishes for every layer between their naked skin to be gone, so he reaches for the belt buckle, opens it before he can think about it twice and pulls down the offending trousers together with the underwear. 

Even though his eyes have already accustomed to the darkness, it’s still frustrating that he’s unable to see anything. To explore with his hands only when he also wants to see with his eyes. To rely on his lips and his feelings, when usually he only believes in his rationality. 

But then he gets pulled back against the half naked body - still clothed, still unable to really feel, Fernando longs for skin on skin contact, longs to find out everything about the man. 

There’s a quiet whisper of surprise, of disbelief, quickly overwritten with thrill and delight, when he drops down onto his knees. 

The dull sound when the man's head collides with the wall of the trailer behind him. The crunching sound of gravel, the loud beat of blood in his ears, the deep hoarse curse that drowns out every other noise.

“God… fuck.” 

(He has never heard anything that arousing and beautiful.)

“See…? That nickname I like a lot better.” 

It’s impossible for him to hide the big grin, while long fingers tangle in his hair, pulling and pushing. Guiding him closer and deeper, urgently and trembling. 

The scent of the skin is warm and sweaty, tangy from arousal and he loves to kiss a trail from navel towards the base of the other’s erection. Leaving behind a moist path of goosebumps when he blows softly over the heated flesh. 

Fernando holds onto the flat sides, the prominent hipbones, claws into the luscious curve of ass.

It feels so good. 

No, it feels ~~hotexcitingelectrifying~~ incredible. And he hasn’t known that his blood could run so fast through his system, his heart could be so fast. Fluttering wild like a bird inside his chest. 

Like everything could happen. Like he could _make_ everything happen. 

Not even before boarding the quite terrifying fun ride he had felt this thrilled, this _alive_. 

___

It was the highest and fastest ride on the fair. 

But Fernando always loved a challenge. So there was no question that this would be the first attraction they were heading to. 

The queue was ridiculously long and he laughed when Maria left her place and returned ten minutes later with a huge portion of french fries with a sickening amount of mayonnaise and two candy apples. She climbed over the barrier, ignoring all the protests from the other visitors behind them and swayed the paper bag under his nose (the scent of ketchup and potatoes, of hot, delicious, unhealthy fast food). 

“Sure you don’t want some?” 

“Sure you want to throw up when we’re up there?” 

She chuckled. 

“Since I didn’t vomit after seeing that guy who jammed his foot in the ghost train yesterday, I’m sure my stomach can take anything.” Licking the salt from her fingers, she took a bite from the deep red candy. 

Fernando raised his eyebrow, partly admiring her cheerfulness, partly amused by it as he bit into his own candy apple, because it was one thing to eat before a rollercoaster ride, but another one to eat sweet and savoury food mixed together in the most pukey way he could imagine. 

“I’ll remind you when I have to pull your hair from your face.” 

He ducked when she threw a fry at him, startled when he bumped into the girl in front of him. And he really wanted to apologize but the words got caught in his throat as he looked upwards to the great platform on which one of the two propellers with the gondola just came to a hold and the passengers got off. Some of them seemed a bit wobbly and sick while others laughed in sheer delight. 

But that wasn’t the reason he suddenly couldn’t breathe anymore.. 

“Hey… isn’t that…” perceptive as ever, Maria had noticed his reaction. 

“Yes, he is.” 

Dressed in simple clothes like before, worn out jeans (smudgy with paint, torn at the seam) and a plain black shirt that really worked well with the toned upper body, unmistakable with all those tattoos and the white bandage around the right arm. 

The guy from the first day. 

“You’re right, ‘ _hot-tattooed-guy_ ’ really fits for him as a nickname.”

“I didn’t call him that.” Fernando turned away before the other man could discover him. “‘ _Hot_ ’ is totally your invention.”

“So you're saying you haven’t realized that he’s hot?” She mocked. 

Of course he realized that the guy was hot. (He would have to be blind not to.) But that didn’t change the fact that all at once this fun ride promised to be a lot less fun and a lot more embarrassing than planned. Suddenly he was feeling almost nauseous, as shaky as all those people dismounting their seats in the gondola. Suddenly his cheeks felt hotter than they should, heart fluttering in his chest, blood tingling in his veins… 

The height and the (not very real but yet possible) danger of the ride were forgotten, while Fernando watched the other man. Helping the people into the seats, pushing down the upholstered bars, double checking their safety, smiling, smirking, flirting with the pretty girls. _Smiling_ , _smirking_ even more when he had to reach between their legs, brush up their skirts to fasten the security belt (a huge part of him wanted to be disgusted, but there was also this small part that still remembered that scent and that laugh directed upon him). 

He tried not to stare, to keep his eyes down in some childish ‘ _I don’t see you, so you don’t see me_ ’ manner, but still he found himself drawn to the dark haired guy far too often. 

Although he wished he wouldn’t… although he really strained himself not to. 

He just couldn’t. 

The thin lips, the toned lower arms, the long fingers flipping the cigarettes over the barrier behind the ride when the next turn came, and the whole rest of that great body. 

He _had_ to watch him.

Everything about him demanded Fernando’s attention like it did almost a week ago and all those days afterwards (and sometimes the nights too, making him wake up sweaty and sticky, tangled in his blanket, hand around his cock). The way he leaned back his head to laugh when one of the other securities told him something. Those fingers brushed back hair, rubbed over brows and eyelids revealing tiredness. The strong back muscles shifted while he worked to help the passengers climb onto the cabin. The freckles he couldn’t see from that far but of which he knew they were there. 

~~The jolt in his stomach when he was finally close enough to detect them~~. 

And he hated it. That a stranger he met only for one hour could leave such an imprint in his thoughts and dreams. 

When the man turned around and finally saw him, a wide and pleased smirk on his face, showing dimples and amused delight, Fernando wished for about two seconds he had turned around and chicken out. His chest suddenly felt hollow, his nervous fluttering heart pounded faster to spread it through his veins, to infect his whole body, so much that his knees went weak and his limbs threatened to give him away. 

The other man opened the barrier for them to wait on the platform within because they would be next, his eyes fixed on him, seemingly enjoying this situation. 

Fingers brushed his arm, grabbed him through the fabric of his jacket, holding him back from entering the circles of iron. 

“How nice of you… coming to check on me.”

Fernando could smell coffee and cigarettes in his breath. The expectantly raised eyebrow made him more angry than it should. 

“How arrogant of you… assuming I’m here for you.”

But the answer inspired just another laughter, throaty from smoking and the obvious lack of sleep. A wink when he released him and closed the platform with a thick chain. 

During the endless 3 or 4 minutes they had to wait for their turn Fernando could feel those eyes on him and whenever he looked up to meet them there was also that smile directed upon him. 

Of course the man turned up at his side after he had taken place on the left side of the gondola. To fasten his seatbelt, to check the cushioned safety bar that flapped down. To lean closer and whisper into his ear. 

“Relax… you’re way too tense.” 

Fingers crawled over his knee, between his thighs - electrifying, arousing. 

“I hope that’s not my fault.” 

They did nothing but the usual security measurements, but ~~they were downright rude and bothersome and he should be disgusted and definitely not turned on~~ they were warm and skilled, tickling and comforting and they turned him on in a way that was seriously embarrassing . 

It was like hot iron melting inside his veins. And the soft laughter that hit his ears was the soothing rain that diminished it. 

“Or rather… I hope that _is_ my fault.” 

Lips ghosting over his ears, not quite a touch, but more than a shadow and Fernando couldn’t help but lean closer ~~swearing and cursing himself later~~.

"My break starts in about half an hour… Meet me at the candy bar if you want some real fun." A tiny flicker of _tongue_. 

Then he stepped away and the cabin got pulled upwards and everything Fernando could hear was his own beating heart. All he could see was that stupid cocky grin. All he could feel was that soft teasing caress - smoldering like a burn. 

And he knew with an almost frightening clarity that he would go. 

___

Everything around him is forgotten… the dull noise from the fair, the blinking lights, the ground underneath him, staining his trousers, the smell of hundreds of people living in a too crowded space. 

There’s nothing he can think about than the feeling of hands in his hair, the mingled taste of precome and candy apples on his tongue, the arousing and satisfying sounds in his ear. 

It’s intense and forbidden and so very _good_ , Fernando almost protests when the other man pulls back and helps him get back onto his feet and closer to touch. 

“I’m honored that you obviously like my taste so much… and generally I’m totally for coming in your mouth but right now I would actually prefer _fucking_ you.”

“Shut up.” 

Without wasting more time he crushes their lips together, still breathless, but he doesn’t care. It’s more important to kiss, to lick, to taste. Until it’s impossible to deny the pain in his lungs and he breaks away, panting heavy and fast while the other man’s hands wander lower, from his head to the small of his back. Pulling and wrestling with Fernando’s open jacket until he gives up and just yanks it down with a quite frustrated growl that sends shivers down his spine. Together they work to get him out of his jeans, opening belt and buttons, their hands brushing occasionally in the darkness, searching and tickling and teasing. 

But then he’s as naked as the dark haired man, both of them just in their shirts. And finally there’s nothing between them anymore, just smooth and glorious skin. The amazing feeling of their arousals sliding against each other, making them gasp with relief. 

He leans forward against the hard chest, grasps the black cotton when strong hands cup his ass to guide him closer, slowly rubbing and increasing the hot friction.

Fernando's fingers reach for him, clawing into shoulderblades, seeking hold, raining bites and bruises over those sharp collarbones, hips thrusting with need. 

The skin feels heated and he can already taste saltiness on his tongue, mingled with skin and earth, making him moan. 

“Look at me…” A whisper and an approving soft smile when he does without one second of hesitation. 

It’s too dark to see more than just his eyes but Fernando knows that there’s more - that suddenly all the amusement and teasing and challenging is gone. That there’s something tender, something fragile and breakable. And he wants to hold onto it, wants to decipher it, but it’s gone before he can capture it. 

Wiped out from long fingers wandering between his cheeks. Blazingly hot and shockingly cold. Brushing his entrance and making him shut his eyes, hide the sigh in the warm skin. He arches his back, trying to get them closer.

“Wanted to do that since I spotted those freckles on your face. And even more when I saw your arse in those jeans tonight. I want to taste every damn freckle on your body and kiss that pout from your lips while I fuck you so deep that you scream into my mouth.” 

The voice is hoarse, giving away how much Fernando turns him on, sending a wave of glorious satisfaction through his body. He steps completely out of his trousers, kicks them away and brings his leg up, embraces the other man, allows him easier access. 

“You thought a lot about this, didn’t you?” He leans back, reveals his smirk, but not the bittersweet and embarrassing truth: that he did too and more than once.

As if he has noticed his tiny flicker of hesitation the man stops with his administrations, leaves him suddenly cold and sober, tears a hole in the hazy state of excited heat and he starts to object, slightly irritated until one hand covers his lips, diminishing his protest when the teasing fingers slip into his mouth.  
The salty and male taste eliminates the remaining sweetness of the candy apple and he loves it, carefully and slowly sucking to get them wet. 

It’s a strange and comfortable feeling, thrilling and pleasing to have the dark eyes following his every motion, drinking him in, licking the own lips while watching him - as if he’s indeed some kind of delicacy. 

“Stop that... “ Voice slightly quivering before he pulls the hand away, immediately replacing it with his mouth. 

“God… you taste even better now.”

Then the moist fingers are back, seeking and teasing him, drawing goosebumps. Nose buried in his blond hair, breathing him in. Lips memorizing every spot and patch of his features while he slowly fucks against his stomach, casually brushing his own arousal, bringing them both closer, wringing gasps and swears from their throat. 

One hand reaches out to grab his thigh, winds it more snugly around his waist, thumb stroking him in such a self-forgetful way that Fernando wants to purr. 

But he’s also impatient, tries to get those wonderful fingers deeper, shifting and thrusting against them. It hurts… a stinging burn that forces him to tighten his grip around the biceps. Yet the pain is endurable, nothing against the pleasure of feeling the man inside him, seeing that smile crumble with eagerness to fuck him. 

“The back pocket of my pants…” 

Fernando blinks questioningly. 

“Lube and condom.”

“You thought about that? I’m impressed.”

He sinks down to fumble in the darkness; eyes fixed on the man above him who also watches him, hands in his messy strands of hair, brushing them back. 

Finally he discovers the two small packets and stands up again, delighted when the left hand immediately reclaims it’s previous position on his bottom. 

“A trial pack?” he raises his eyebrows when he opens the lube. 

“Sure, more practical. Plus it doesn’t look like I’m doing this on a daily basis.” 

The smirk is so confident and challenging… it really shouldn't turn him on even more. ~~But it does~~. 

“Well… in that case I’m a bit disgusted.” 

But that doesn’t stop him from emptying the small packet into the outstretched palm, wrinkling his nose at the artificial and overly sweet scent of cherries and vanilla. Yet this is not the time for being picky, especially not when the other man observes his every movement with keen interest - damn cocky smile still in place (even though there’s something tender and soft around it’s edges now) while he applies the lube with slow and teasing strokes, taking extra care of the ticklish spaces between the long fingers.  
Fernando can see him swallow dryly before he manages an answer. 

“As long as it’s just a ‘bit’, it is perfectly fine for me, princess.” 

And before Fernando can shape the sharp reply he wants, the fingers slide back into him, moist and well prepared and the man other dives in for a deep, hasty kiss, wet and tangy, lips and tongue. 

Possessive ~~almost~~. 

(A preview of what he would have really soon.) 

Fernando doesn’t hide the moan, the fact that he’s impatient, too impatient to wait much longer. Because kisses and tongue and fingers are not enough anymore. 

“Shut up and fuck me.” He ends their kiss, their touch, pushes the other man back so he can reach for his cock. Hard and erect. Incredibly hot in his hands as he rolls the rubber over the already slick tip. Biting his lower lip at the harsh and enthusiastic reaction he receives he can’t help slowing down his action, prolonging the moment even though it’s torturous. 

But _this_ is priceless. 

The thick heavy voice, the warm fingers inside him, twitching at his teasing touch, the dark eyes watching him intently and without taking his gaze one second from him ~~as if he’s something special, something rare and beautiful~~. 

Fernando loves ~~it~~ having the upper hand. 

The sharp intake of breath behind him when he turns around and spreads his legs - aroused and longing.  
The slight tremble when hands grab his waist and hips and the other steps closer to position himself between his cheeks - eager and achingly hard. 

The strong and overwhelming feeling of the trim stomach when the man leans over him, embracing him - strangely calming and comforting, before he starts to thrust into him.

Sweats starts immediately to pool in the hollow of Fernando’s spine with every inch that slides deeper in one intense movement. He doesn’t stop or hesitate and Fernando wouldn’t want him too even though it hurts slightly, but it’s a glorious pain - proof that this is real. It anchors him, helps him to hold onto rationality. 

His hands search for a better grip, yet they only find the dusty structured wall of the caravan he’s facing, nothing to grasp. 

But then there are warm fingers, fitting perfectly into the spaces between his own. Warm palms covering his. A warm and ~~almost~~ sweet caress that calms and excites him even more. 

A startling and exciting contrast to the intense and visceral way the other presses into his body.

Because the friction is delicious and thrilling. The rhythm slow but vigorous, leaving him shaken every time he pushes back in, strokes him from the inside. Leaving him empty every time he pulls almost out.  
Fernando feels _complete_. As if the other man reaches for every part of his body and soul (searching, finding and touching it). As if the other man belongs to him. 

He feels _good_. No, way better. Dirty and daring. Lightheaded and lighthearted. Proud and invincible. With fire singing in his veins and shadows crackling in his bones every time the man is so deep inside him he sees white spots. 

But then the other slows down, stills his movements. 

And Fernando wants to scream in frustration, because suddenly all that glorious tension is gone and even though the man is still fully buried inside him, he’s feels almost empty and he can’t stand it. Biting his lower lip so hard he almost tears through the tender skin and draws blood, he manages to convert it into an impatient, irritated growl. 

“Are you kidding me!?”

The amusement and smug content is so obvious while he releases Fernando’s wrists to pull his upper body up and against his. A low moan vibrates through his spine, sends shivers into every vein and fiber of his flesh. 

“Patience, princess.” 

Hands embrace him to hold him so close and tight. Mouth on his neck, underneath his earlobe, a warm and delicate tongue stroking the thin skin over his pulse and Fernando literally melts against the other man, leans his head back onto the strong shoulders and lets himself be kissed again (the strange angle allowing nothing but some small licks). The relentless deep thrusts are now lacking some of their pace and force, but the new position adds a layer of intimacy that makes him speechless. 

Because it isn’t supposed to be like this. 

Sensual and sweet ~~almost~~. Shocking him with its sudden _realness_. With the amount of emotions radiating from their touch. 

The ridiculous ~~desire~~ wish to turn around, to see the other man, see his eyes, his face. Kissing him and screaming into his mouth when he comes. (Because that twisted, awkward kiss is not nearly enough.)  
The incredible and mind blowing sensation of being together, of sharing one body and everything that comes with it. 

Oxygen, heartbeats, thoughts. 

But instead of turning around he grabs the hand on his chest, grasps it tightly - bones crushing and grinding, making the man behind him hiss in pain and excitement, tightening his own grip on Fernando - and thrusts backwards, trying to get that beautiful cock deeper, to feel more of that perfect friction. Thrusts forward into the warm and arousing security of a palm, savouring the electrifying touches. 

He breathes the earthy scent, swallows the spicy taste of skin, relishes the whispering moans caressing his cheek. 

When he finally comes - hot and white and messy, all over the nimble fingers - it’s so hard, so ~~un~~ expected he shivers, trembles, eyelids fluttering, white spots clouding his vision. The responding groan echoes through the hollow of his bones, deep and warm like honey. And without letting Fernando go the other man quickens his thrusts again, snatching him up to get deeper, smearing sticky cum all over his groin. His grip is so tight it _almost_ hurts and Fernando’s sure there’ll be purple bruises on his hip bones but he can’t care. 

Not now. Not ever. 

(At least he’ll have a souvenir tomorrow.) 

So he curves his spine, reaches backwards for the tattooed neck, the dark hair and copies the increasing pace the other man sets. 

Their bodies slamming together, creating wet, obscene sounds, overplayed by the dirty whispers and praises that drip into his mind and make him feel warm and secure ~~and special~~.

When the other man finally comes - hot and white and deep inside him but still separated from him through that tiny layer of protection, they both freeze. 

Together. 

Joined. 

And yet not.

And Fernando feels his heart beat achingly in his chest. The racing and raging reply throbbing against his back. A chin resting on his shoulders, panting poetry into his ear, breath tickling his neck. His bones are heavy, his joints ache and every fiber of his flesh tingles from the sensation, from lips licking sweat from his temporals, from the nose ruffling his hair. 

They stay like this for seconds, minutes. ~~Forever~~. 

The crisp night air cools their skin, the rushing sound of blood in their ears drowns the noise from the fair, the warm and gentle spots of colour dancing in front of him when he closes his eyes more beautiful than the flashing neon lights. 

He’s perfectly content. 

Until the man draws back, pulls out and ~~leaves him shockingly empty~~ discards the used condom under the caravan behind him, before he yanks his trousers upwards. The clicking of the belt buckle harsh and sobering (speaking of endings and no beginnings). 

Fernando keeps his eyes shut for one moment longer, then he turns around and combs fingers through his hair, scanning the dark ground for his trousers and his jacket when the other comes closer again, presenting him his navy jeans and taking him in with that look of confidence and mocking amusement (and again it is too dark to see if the affection is real or just his imagination). 

Fernando mumbles some weak thanks and makes move to dress but suddenly there are fingertips that stop him. They linger softly on his chest before they wander south and trail over his stained stomach, dipping into the white mess and bringing it up to that mouth, that tongue… to taste it playfully. 

“Not bad… but I prefer candy apples.” 

And with that he takes another step towards him so that Fernando can feel the heat radiating from his body even without actually touching him. There is still a frail layer of clothes and space between them and yet he is so much _closer_ than ever before. Lips whisper over his jaw, his chin, his mouth. Not kissing - waiting. 

For seconds they just share their breaths, until Fernando finally brings them together. 

It’s a kiss that should never end because it is so much more than all those kisses before. More than the touching and fucking. 

But it has to end. 

And everything Fernando can do is watch the other while he takes off his shirt and uses it to clean him up. All he can do is get dressed again, while the man folds his shirt carelessly and tugs it into the back pocket of his trousers, leaving the man bare chested in the cold of the autumn night. 

“Sorry, princess, that will have to make do… can’t think of everything.” 

With a shrug Fernando tears his gaze from the tattooed shoulders and arms, settles for the white bandage on the lower arm, thankful for something to distract his thoughts from all those confusing emotions. 

“Does it still hurt? Need more painkillers?” 

“Yeah, hurts sometimes like hell… but the last half of an hour it was quite okay,” he laughed and brushed his hair back. “Fucking you was better than painkillers.”

Fernando snorts, swallowing the sarcastic remark because it was lame, because the other bowed down to get his jacket and he could see that back - covered completely in ink. Letters and pictures, symbols and colours… all too delicate and detailed to decipher in the darkness. All inspiring him to touch and learn and kiss. 

“Impressed?” 

“Of you? Keep on dreaming.” 

“What do you think I’ll do this night? Besides… I was right. I made you cum without your first name. And rather quickly if you’d ask me.”

He rolls his eyes. Wondering why he couldn’t feel the irritation he should be feeling. 

“Shut up.” 

And thankfully he does, smirking and offering him the jacket. 

“Come on, I’ll show you the way back to the fairyland, so you don’t get lost in this dark wonderland.” 

With a quick brush of thumb over Fernando’s chin he turns around, not waiting or checking if he follows him. So he slides into his jacket - still feeling hot and sweaty. Something that won’t go away when he watches the man in front of him searching their way out of this labyrinth of narrow paths. When he remembers his smile and his touch. When he feels that soreness inside of him. When he touches the spot on his chin. 

They choose a different way out of the trailer park. 

At least it feels like that. 

Because it takes a surprisingly short time to get back to the manic and loud, shrill and aching scenery of the fair. A shockingly short time. 

“There you are, princess.” 

He stops and turns to block Fernando’s way. All eyes and smile, holding out his open palm expectantly. 

“My reward.”

“Reward?!” 

He wants to put some indignation into his voice but instead it comes out as a soft betraying laughter when he leans closer, lips ~~almost~~ touching the tempting place where chin meets neck, tracing upwards, gathering the salty earthy scent. 

“You just fucked me. I think that’s enough reward.”

And he wants to draw back, to step away, but his wrist is caught in an iron clasp and his body leans in on it’s own accord. His mouth opens and welcomes that kiss the last time. 

When Fernando finally pulls away they are both panting hard and his heart pounds rapidly to fill the hollow in his chest that he feels when he walks away from him. 

And he knows he is supposed to leave. To go. Never turn around again. Because he doesn’t want to be the one who watches the other go without turning back.

And he walks on. 

Lips burning, skin longing. Heart ~~almost~~ aching. 

It’s just when he reaches the hole in the wooden fence that his feet stumble and the ~~desire~~ wish to have one last gaze is ~~almost~~ unbearable that he gives in. 

Almost. 

But he doesn’t. 

And he would never know if the other man watches him leaving. 

___

**The end.**


End file.
